


His Father's Son

by sir_mrs_billycrystal



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Sleep Paralysis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 06:53:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19806991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sir_mrs_billycrystal/pseuds/sir_mrs_billycrystal
Summary: Edward Nygma is haunted by his past and, sometimes, he doesn't know how to deal with it.





	His Father's Son

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this is set sometime after episode 5x11. Penguin and Riddler were NOT separated for 10 years because fuck that shit, tbh.

Edward woke up in complete darkness. He could hear quiet, deep breathing beside him. He could feel the texture of his silky green pajamas against his skin. He could see the dark silhouettes of the furniture in the bedroom. And yet, when he tried to move his head, he couldn‘t. It was as if the muscles in his head were refusing to obey his brain‘s orders. He tried to move other parts of his body, his fingers, his toes, his hand, his foot. But he was stuck, his eyes the only body part willing to move. He felt his breathing becoming more erratic and shallow, every inhale was more labored as the seconds passed. He felt like he was drowning, like the air wouldn‘t enter his lungs.

What was happening to him? Was he dying? Was _this_ what dying felt like?

Edward tried to scream for help, but his lips were as if sewn together and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

He scanned his eyes once again across the room. In the darkness of the room, he almost didn‘t see the figure standing by the foot of the bed. But when he finally did, every single synapse in his body ignited, screaming at his muscles to move, to do _something_.

He didn‘t want to look, but the fear was so paralizing that he couldn‘t do anything but stare at the woman in front of him. Her scalp was partially peeled off, revealing the broken skull underneath. Her dark curls hung loosely down one side of her ashen face. Edward could hear the faint drip-drip-drips as the blood splashed against the floor underneath her. Her light blue dress – Edward remembered it being her favorite – was adorned with red splotches.

No. He didn‘t want to see this. This wasn‘t how he wanted to remember her. He wanted to remember being in the safety of her warm embrace, not seeing her dead on the living room floor, with her blood soaking the carpet. He wanted to remember her laughs and the way they made her face light up, not her terrified screams silenced by a loud thud and a sickening crack.

“Eddie?” his mother’s voice echoed in his ears. It didn’t sound like he remembered it. It wasn’t soft and calm, but rough and frightened.

He felt tears streaming down his face, blurring his vision. He tried to scream again, but it only came out as weak groans. He felt someone‘s hand touching his face, but he couldn‘t move to slap it away, too distraught to even recognize who it was.

“Edward!” he heard someone say from above, and he wondered if he really was dying.

Suddenly, after what felt like several agonizing hours, Edward could finally move. His whole body trembled as he gasped, choked sobs escaping his lips with every exhale.

“Ed, it’s okay.” he heard someone say soothingly. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

He looked up to see Oswald right next to him, holding his hand tightly and running his free hand through his hair.

Edward buried his face in Oswald’s shoulder, who circled his arms around him.

“Shh…” Oswald whispered. “You’re okay.”

* * *

An hour later, they were sitting on the sofa in the living room. Edward held a teacup in his still-trembling hands, having calmed down considerably but still refusing to look at the man beside him.

The house was completely silent, except for the tiny clanks from the teacup as it shook against the saucer.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Oswald asked, concern lacing his voice.

Edward shrugged his shoulders.

“It was the same as before.” he replied shortly. “I woke, couldn’t move and, all of a sudden, she was…”

He drifted off, shaking his head as if trying to shake the memory out of his mind.

Oswald took Ed’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

“You know you can talk to me, love.” he said.

Ed nodded his head.

“Yeah, I know.” he concurred, setting the teacup aside and covering their intertwined hands with his other one.

“Then, talk to me.” Oswald said, tracing his thumb against Ed’s knuckles. “I know that something’s been bothering you.”

Ed couldn’t help but let out a tiny chuckle, despite himself. Of course, Oswald had noticed. He could always read him like an open book. His smile fell and he took a deep breath before staring into his husband’s eyes.

“Will you promise me something?” he asked.

Oswald lifted their hands and pressed Ed’s hand to his lips.

“Anything.” he promised.

“If I ever hurt you,” Edward said. “I need you to promise me that you’ll kill me.”

Oswald couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?” he breathed. “Why would I do that?”

Edward didn’t seem satisfied by his answer. He looked intently into his eyes.

“Oswald.” he said. “I saw what my father did to my mom. Every single day, he made her feel powerless, weak. And I don’t _ever_ want to make you feel that way.”

“Ed…”

“He killed her, Oswald.” he stated. “He was supposed to love her, and he killed her.”

Ed had never talked about his mother’s death in great detail. Of course, he had told Oswald a bit about his childhood and, putting the clues together, he had suspected that Ed’s mother hadn’t died of natural causes. But this confirmed his suspicions, and, for a brief moment, he could see Ed as a small boy, witnessing the murder of his mother. Oswald knew all too well what that felt like.

“And God knows how my past relationships have ended.” Ed continued.

The room fell silent instantly, the air became heavy. As with his childhood, Ed never wanted to speak about Kristen Kringle. Isabella was a topic they’d had one discussion about and then decided to never mention again. And Lee Thompkins had been, in Ed’s mind, simply a lapse in judgment.

“And I don’t want that to happen to you.” Ed concluded, suddenly becoming very interested in the stitching on the sofa.

Oswald let out a short exhale through his nose as he stared.

“Ed, look at me.” he said, but Ed refused to meet his gaze. “ _Look_ at me.”

Finally, he looked up at Oswald. His eyes were glistening with tears threatening to escape. Oswald placed his index finger underneath his chin, offering him no escape from his eyes.

“You are _nothing_ like that man.” he said confidently. “I know you, Ed. And I know that you would _never_ do _anything_ to hurt me.”

His words made Ed completely lose control. The tears rolled down his cheeks as he tried, and failed, to choke down his sobs.

“But I already did.” he whispered.

Oswald furrowed his brows in confusion.

“I’ve already hurt you.” Ed explained. “So many times.”

“No.” Oswald said bluntly. “Don’t do this to yourself. I hurt you, too. But you’ve forgiven me, haven’t you?”

Ed’s eyes widened, as if the idea of him not forgiving Oswald was absurd.

“Of course, love.” he said earnestly.

“Then, why can’t you accept the fact that _I’ve_ forgiven _you_?” he asked.

Ed didn’t know how to reply. He hadn’t thought of it like that. But it didn’t do anything to stifle the voice in his head, the one that kept whispering to him: _He’s going to die. You’re going to kill him._

“I’m so scared.” he finally admitted.

Oswald gave him a sad smile as he held both of Ed’s hands.

“Ed,” he vowed. “I promise you, that if you _ever_ were to hurt me, I will cut out your heart and stuff it down your throat.”

For a few seconds, they stared at each other, brown eyes meeting one green and one blue.

“That is, I think,” Ed said, finally. “the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

A beat later, both of them burst into laughter. Edward let his head fall into Oswald’s chest while Oswald placed his head onto Ed’s shoulder, stomachs aching and tears streaming down their faces as the laughter reverberated through the mansion.

Long after the laughter had died down, neither man moved away. They circled their arms around each other in a loving embrace.

“Thank you.” Oswald could hear Ed’s quiet voice, muffled by his shirt. If it was even possible, Oswald tightened his hold on his husband’s shoulder, curling the fabric of his shirt into his fist. He knew that he didn’t need to say anything.

Just being there for Edward, trusting him and loving him, was enough. And he was more than willing to do that.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, feel free to kudos, comment etc :)


End file.
